


The Romance of Sansa Stark

by thatsarockfact55



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Ladies Loving Ladies, Not Canon Compliant, Resource Management, Sewing, Sex Work, a convoluted idea that inevitably leads to romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsarockfact55/pseuds/thatsarockfact55
Summary: They said that the Lady of Winterfell was living frost. That she was kind but distant, untouchable and remote, like strands of winter sun caught between layers of thick gray clouds. That she had been married twice as a child, and never since. That she was a good leader but surely a horrible wife.Tam wondered if those stories were true.---Sansa Stark deserves love. So does Tam Mosscreep, who just wants to open up her own seamstress/tailoring shop when she's done working at the brothel. Will Tam survive the harsh winter? Will Sansa open her heart to anyone? Will either of them make it to the end of this story--just kidding, they fall in love and live.





	The Romance of Sansa Stark

    Tam Mosscreep was cold. Very, very cold. Cold as fucking frozen caribou shit. She knew Winterfell was infamous for its brutal weather, but by the gods, this was ridiculous. 

   “More-- that’s it, lass, deeper--’m gonna swallow you up--”

    Tam thrusted, and hoped that...Greg? Craig? Crag?....mistook her shivering for an actual orgasm. She looked down and breathed a tiny sigh of relief: he was one of those men who came fast, a blissful expression softening his sweaty, bearded face, green eyes closed. 

    She rolled off of him quickly--her tits were going to turn to icicles, the sweat just made her colder--and with shaking fingers she threw on her robe and cloaks. Blast, the elbow of the robe had a little tear already. Well, Tam was no stranger to mending, and besides, soon she would have enough to afford heartier, thicker fabrics, real animal fur even. Someday--Tam smiled slightly--someday she would wear clothes of her own making, practical and warm, and the people of Winterfell or wherever she ended up would form in orderly lines outside her little store and marvel at her craftsmanship, at the durability and undeniable beauty of her creations, at her expert tailoring and designs--but for now, she shivered. Shook her head. Bent down to put on her socks and boots, but then, a large hand on her back, a raspy voice in her ear:

    “I could keep you warm.”

    Tam arranged her face into a playful smile, and smacked his hand away. She didn’t do it too hard, but privately she hoped it stung a little. The clients who liked to be spanked or tied up or insulted were her favorite. Low effort, often paid well. This man wasn’t of that persuasion, alas. She made sure her touch was light but firm. 

    Tam let out a girlish laugh. “Your coin will keep me warm, in the bitter nights to come.”

    “Ay? How so?”

     He thought he was being playful, bless him. Winterfell men were the same as any other, it seemed. 

     “Well,” Tam smiled, flashing all of her teeth in his direction, “think of how magnificent I would be in fox-fur robes.”

     Greg-Craig-Crag stroked his beard. “Go on.”

     “Imagine running your hands through it...the thick, soft fur....and then, one by one, each layer is peeled away…” 

     The man hummed in the back of his throat.

      “...Until you, and only you, can see what’s beneath.”

      Greg-Craig-Crag grinned. “I should like to see that.”

      “Mm. Ten coin, then.”

       He laughed a belly laugh, and for a moment, Tam glimpsed his boyhood face. “Ay, lass, here’s your coin.” He leaned over to the rickety bedside table and fumbled around until he found what he was looking for, and tossed the small pouch in her direction over his shoulder.

      Tam caught it mid-air. Made sure the coin was real and accounted for, an old habit. Finished putting on her socks and boots. Winked a goodbye, and left the creaking old room in the inn.

      At the end of the narrow hallway, Tam leaned against the cold stone wall and breathed a sigh. Should be her last client for the night: she’d never been one of the more popular whores, it was why she was here in the first place. The south was overrun with brothels, but up north, well, there was a high demand that needed to be met, and Tam figured she could make more coin off of scarcity than surplus. She ran a hand through her short, dark hair, and snorted: having neither a pretty face nor a way with words, it would be a miracle indeed if Tam made enough coin to live on her own. Still. Still, there was that slim chance, and Tam was determined to thread the needle, no matter how small the eye. 

     Against the cool stone, Tam closed her eyes, and for the briefest of moments imagined she was somewhere else. 

     It’s not that whoring was some dreadful curse upon her; of course there were shitbag clients and brothel politics and gossip to contend with, but for the most part it was just...dull, and tiring, and messy, at least to her, and there was poor Leo to think about, dead from the pox not three weeks ago. He’d been one of Madame Mildred’s best whores, too, even a newcomer like Tam could see that. Magnificent cheekbones, jokes always at the ready. The whole house had fallen into mourning for him, even as business had to carry on, black dresses and trousers slipping off as coin was collected in those dreary days after the funeral. 

     Tam shook her head: best not linger here any longer, or Greg-whoever-the-fuck could come looking. Dreaming Tam, Ma had always called her, and Tam smiled ruefully to no one as she made her way downstairs and into the night: even now, Ma was right. Tam had been whoring on-and-off since she was--what, sixteen?--and still, she saw her little store in her mind’s eye, saw herself sweeping the floors, mending the coats and pants and jackets and socks, aweing customers with her latest fashions. Tam didn’t have many dreams left, but this was one that hadn’t faded, no matter how hard she tried. She knew she was being foolish, she knew she was nothing but a whore with another fruitless figment of a dream, but--she nodded to the innkeeper and opened the heavy door--oh, shit.

     Tam shivered again as the winter wind stung her eyes. 

     Of course. 

     Tam wasn’t finished for the night at all. Her last and most important client of the night--of her life--was surely waiting for her.

     Well, fuck, that’s what she got for standing around mooning. 

     Tam hurried away from the inn and towards the Great Keep looming over them all, lanterns and torchlight lighting her way as her footprints shaped the snow. 

\---

      It was surprisingly easy to get into the Great Keep. It had been seven years since the War of the Draconic...the Royal War of...The Clash Between...whatever they called the last massive clusterfuck. Tam didn’t keep track of what the last great war was officially named, but she did know the smell of burning flesh. She knew the gasping pain in her lungs as she’d fled from brothel to brothel, town to town, as soldiers from all sides marched through with hungry eyes. She knew the feel of a client crying in her arms, fully-clothed and limp, her war-eaten stump of a left leg shifting against her. She knew the taste of shit ale burning her throat, squawking loud bawdy tunes alongside Zoe as they careened through the streets looking for coin. She knew the sound of blood dripping onto the ground. She knew what she had seen reflected back at her after glimpsing herself in a muddy puddle in a fire-scarred wood: grime and sweat, sunken cheeks, angry scar across the forehead, mouth a listless bloodied line, dark-circled eyes empty and desperate. 

       Her cheeks were round now, and her mouth smiled more often these days. Her forehead scar had long since healed. 

       The look in her eyes hadn’t quite left.  

        In any case, seven years of relative peace meant that The Great Keep was easy to enter. It was not, however, easy to find her last client of the night. It was one thing to present a letter and some coin and proof of her intentions, it was another to find a single person in a massive castle complex Tam had never set foot in. 

       Tam had only met the client once, and it had been for few minutes at most. She’d worn a hood over her head and a long brown cloak, nothing standout, though Tam had caught a glimpse of red hair sticking out from under the hood. She’d nearly sprinted into the brothel, the poor thing, eyes wide under the hood, and she had seemed like a scampering mouse. She’d looked around, locked eyes with Tam, and stammered out that she’d like to request her services.

       Tam had gotten the feeling that the girl would’ve just chosen the first person her eyes laid on, she’d been so jumpy, but she’d accepted anyway, especially after she’d asked for the girl’s name.

     “Er, Hilda. Hilda Thorne, I--I serve Lady Sansa in the Great Keep, and I--I would just like--”

      Tam had smiled her best smile, and she had reached out and patted Hilda’s shoulder. She had leaned in close. “Pleasure to meet you, Hilda. I look forward to knowing you better.”

      Hilda had been blushing, Tam was sure of it. With skin that pale, a blush that deep couldn’t be hidden. “What--what’s your name, uh, miss?”

      Tam had laughed then, genuinely. It had been a while since she’d had someone new to whoring. “Sam.”

      Not like she gave her real name out to clients, especially in a new area full of strangers; Tam wasn’t that stupid. 

      After they’d arranged everything--Hilda became much more confident describing how to get in and out of the Great Keep, and where she would be in the servant’s quarters--the girl had left quickly, and Tam had been left to marvel at her luck. Her usual clients were farmers, merchants, blacksmiths, fishermen, the occasional soldier--a servant of a Lady was sure to be the wealthiest client Tam had ever had, and she was looking forward to reaping her rewards.

      But first: where the fuck was Hilda? Why wasn’t she in the servant’s quarters?

      Tam had asked the other servants of course, doing her best to be sultry instead of impatient or embarrassed, but none of them had been clear at all.  

     “I dunno, Hilda keeps to herself.”

     “Hilda? Oh, her. Hmm, could be anywhere. My guess is the Great Hall? Cleaning probably.”

     “Who needs Hilda when I’m right here, eh? Could double her offer, could give you the time of your life--”

      Tam had rolled her eyes and ignored that particular comment. She didn’t receive such blatant invitations often, certainly not when she wasn’t working, so she was a bit rattled after that, about to throw up her hands and look elsewhere when:

     “She’s in the library, I think.” The pimpled boy had leaned in close, blue eyes darting about. “Hilda...she likes to read, when her duties are done.”

     Tam could have hugged the stringbean of a servant. “Thank you, good sir.”

     So she’d hurried off, and after asking a few glowering guards where the library was--she was not embarrassed and frustrated and cold, she wasn’t--she made her way to the library tower.

     Tam had expected the night air to be as cold as the rest of Winterfell, but warmth seeped into her instead. She’d heard passing rumors of hot springs beneath the great castle, but she’d assumed that was a joke. Tam breathed deep: apparently that wasn’t the case. 

     Still, she couldn’t stand there basking in the warmth on her lonesome--she had a girl to find and fuck, and heaps of coin to collect. Tam hurried on, her impatience melting away the closer she neared the library tower--at least, what she hoped was the library tower, given the scant descriptions the guards and other servants had provided her. 

     The closer Tam got to the building, the clearer it became that someone was standing next to the entrance: another guard? Tam got Hilda’s letter of permission ready, fumbled in her coat’s pocket for her coin purse--she was nearly there, she couldn’t stop now--

    “What is your business?”

     Tam startled and looked up. A tall woman was glaring down at her, stern and strong, blocking the entrance to the library. Her armor was immaculate, but clearly put to use. Tam’s eyes widened: fuck, that was a big sword. 

     She forced herself to look up. The woman had the hardened eyes of a knight, but none of their usual arrogance, or cruelty. Freckles smattered across her broken nose, and in the torchlight Tam could see that her eyes were dark and unflinching. Tam swallowed and willed her blush to fade, and for her voice to be steady: “Ser, I am here at the behest of Hilda Thorne, servant to Lady Sansa and the Great Keep.”

    Before the ser could respond, Tam thrust the letter into the knight’s large, calloused hand.

    The knight read the short note carefully, eyes squinting in the dimmed light. Her eyes widened--she looked once at Tam, then back at the letter, and coughed slightly. Posture still stiff and forbording, the knight stepped aside, voice gruff. “You may enter.”

    Tam bowed. “Thank you, ser.”

    The knight stood, if possible, even straighter. “No need.”

    Tam nearly snorted--was the woman blushing?--and entered the library.

    Like everything else in this godsforsaken castle, it was massive. The heat from the air and from all of the torchlight was starting to get to her--Tam shed her coat and placed it on a nearby table. She’d get it on her way out. 

    The warmth made this place feel like home, even with the rows upon rows of books, even with all of the finely carved tables and detailed tapestries lining the stone walls. Tam grinned, anticipation burning through her: she had only one thing left to do, and she’d be damned if she didn’t earn her keep tonight.

    Tam walked quickly through the library, no longer caring if she appeared graceful or alluring or whatever the fuck clients wanted whores to look like--this was it, this could be a step to making her dream real--and then, finally, there she was.

    Hilda was indeed reading, books and scrolls strewn all over the wide table as she read a large tome, apparently deep in thought. She sat in a corner of the library that wasn’t as well-lit as other sections, but Tam could spot that red hair from anywhere. Her grin widened, and she strode towards her. Hilda had seemed so shy in that first meeting: Tam would be confident for them both, she would be bold and daring and teasing--Hilda was going to tremble beneath her hands, and Tam was going to kiss each shining coin she received for her efforts--

     Tam didn’t pause. She didn’t say pretty words. She didn’t even introduce herself. She positively swaggered towards Hilda Thorne, the girl still lost in her book--Tam smirked: she would be lost in other things, soon enough-- and Tam drew the chair back from the table, and straddled the servant girl.

    Her voice was pitched low and hoarse, her smirk wide and unafraid. “You summoned me?”

    For a single moment, nothing happened. There was just the heat between them, and Tam’s heartbeat in her ears, and the feel of fabrics sliding against each other, and then....wait.

     Hilda’s eyes were a dark, pretty brown. This woman’s were winter-blue. 

    Several things happened at once.

     A flurry of movement, and suddenly Tam was slammed sideways and onto the floor, a spear at her throat. A flash of red hair fled the scene-- _ fuck fuck fuck, damn her _ \--and a cold, almost-calm voice rang out in the dusty quiet: “Who are you, and why are you here?”

      Tam’s head ached, her arm was surely bruised, and the spear pressed closer against her throat, but she looked up, not at the guard glaring at her, but at this woman who was certainly not Hilda, not upon closer inspection. Her strong chin was tilted upwards, her gaze was steady and sharp, and her posture hinted at years of practice and discipline. And gods, her clothes--Tam couldn’t help a cursory glance, the barest of looks, at her fur-cape, the intricate patterns on her dress, the layers--the time this must have taken to make, the coin it must have required--

    “Lady Sansa asked you a question, wench,” the guard growled, and the spear stung her throat.

_     Fuck.  _

_     Fuck. _

_     Fuck.  _

    Tam didn’t look away from Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. Couldn’t, really. She had heard rumors of the lady’s intelligence, of her pragmatism, of her kindness, but not of her beauty. 

    “My lady.” Tam bent her head the slightest amount so as not to agitate the spear. Her voice trembled. She was so small, so poor, so nothing. “I am...deeply sorry. There has--” she winced as the spear pressed further and drew blood-- “There has been a misunderstanding. If you could allow me to explain--”

   The guard shifted, but Lady Stark lifted a hand. “That’s enough. Let her speak.”

   The guard muttered something under his breath, but he obeyed, lifting the spear away and taking a single step backwards. 

   “I have--I was summoned, you see, to perform my, ah, duties for the night--” and Tam fumbled until she held out Hilda’s letter with a shaking hand. 

    Trust her to be in front of royalty for the first time in her life, and for the circumstances to be so humiliating. 

    Lady Stark took the letter. Read it carefully. A small smirk cut across her face. “I see.”

    “Yes.” Tam shifted slightly: Ma had always scolded her for her fidgeting. Ma was long dead. Tam could fidget all she wanted. “...Hilda Thorne….she has red hair, you see, and I’d thought--”

    “Yes. I understand.”

    There was a terrible silence. Tam thought she would burst into flame--would she even have a job after this?--and then Lady Stark spoke again:

    “You may go.”

    “I...what?”

    Lady Stark nodded towards the entrance of the library. “Leave.”

    “...Thank you, Lady Stark--”

    “No need.” She waved a hand. “I have more important things to do than dole out punishment for things like this.”

    Ah.

    Tam swallowed. “If...if I may--”

    Lady Stark raised an eyebrow. 

    “Hilda...the fault is entirely mine. I know I have no right to ask this, but please--she is not to blame for this--”

    Lady Stark put up a hand. “Hilda will be spoken to, but she won’t be dismissed.” Something like amusement sparked in her eyes. “I have suffered worse fools.”

    Tam bowed her head. “Thank you, Lady.”

   “You may go now.”

    Tam rose unsteadily, head still hurting. She ran a hand through her hair, hope sunk low in her chest, promise of coin tonight dissipating to ash. Something like fire lit in her chest then, something deep-rooted and desperate. Tam looked Lady Stark full in the face, and said, “If...if I am not to receive the payment I was promised tonight, I don’t....I won’t be able to stay at the madame’s--”

    Lady Stark jerked her head. Without a moment’s hesitation, she unclasped a small pouch from her belt and reached out to Tam, pouch in hand. “Will this suffice?”

    She spoke in an almost droll way, as if this wasn’t the strangest night she’d ever experienced, as if giving away some coin to a common whore was nothing to bat an eye at. 

    Tam reached for the pouch, her hand trembling in the warm air. Her fingers closed around Lady Stark’s, just for an instant, and she had never been more aware of her own body. Tam took the coin pouch, but she barely registered the weight of it. In that moment, Tam was looking at Lady Stark’s faint blush across her cheeks, and Tam felt...she swallowed. She felt--

   “Leave.”

   Tam bowed hastily and nearly ran off, and still--still, she wondered--had Lady Stark’s voice sounded hoarse, then? Did she--

   Tam shook her head: there she was, dreaming again. 

    She fled into the night, not even acknowledging the lady knight’s surprised grunt. It was warm here, but out there, it was as cold as she’d ever been. Out there, she had coin to earn and a life to cling to. Out there, she had to keep her head down, and curtsy accordingly, and dream of simple things. Tam Mosscreep welcomed the cold when she left the Great Keep. It kept her honest. Kept her grounded. Kept her from being so damn foolish.

    It was only in the cold, too, that Tam realized that she’d forgotten her cloak in the library. 

\---

    In the days since her encounter with Lady Stark, Tam did her best to forget about it. Thankfully, only vague rumors spread about the incident, so Tam could continue on with her business unrecognized. There was, however, the coin to consider. Tam held each one up to the faint candlelight in the brothel when everyone else had been asleep, Marigold snoring next to her and Hector talking in his sleep in the far corner of the cramped shared room. Every shining coin had been real gold and silver in her hands, and Tam kept the pouch tucked away under a loose floorboard beneath her itchy bed. Tam couldn’t forget about Lady Stark, not when a fraction of her wealth was glittering beneath Tam as she tried and failed to sleep. She couldn’t forget about the lady’s blush either, but...Tam exhaled sharply through her nose, staring hard at the dark ceiling above her. That was neither here nor there. What Tam should devote her free time to was strategizing on how to reserve its use for emergencies, to save most of it, and to ensure that none of it was taken away from her, so that is what she did. Tam had only been in Winterfell for a month, and had made neither arch-nemeses nor fast friends, but one couldn’t be too careful. She did her best not to flinch whenever anyone sniffed the air, as if they could smell the coppery scent of real money on her.   

    The nights were difficult to manage, but the days were thankfully much the same, and Tam threw herself into the tedium. Tam fucked people staying at the local inn, in the village, or on the outskirts of Winterfell: whoever was willing to pay, whoever looked sanitary enough, and whoever came into the brothel looking for an unremarkable bit of everything. She spanked a hunter’s ass until he cried, she concealed a bite mark from a lady blacksmith with a scarf, she cut her hair shorter after a farmer had grabbed a stray lock too tightly during an otherwise uneventful fuck, she broke a merchant’s creaking headboard, her cackle still echoing in Tam’s ears as she left. She did her best to bathe as thoroughly as she could; whoring was a messy business. She did her best not to think of the coins underneath her bed, of Lady Stark looking right at her-- 

   “Tam?”

   Ah, shit. “Yeah?”

   Marigold’s voice rang through the other side of the door. She wasn’t one to keep quiet; her screams were legendary in the brothel. “You’re not the only one who needs a wash up.”

  “Right, right. Be out in a flash.”

   Tam rose, missing the faint heat of the water instantly. She bit her lip: she had been warm once, in Winterfell, and she--

   Tam hurried out of the tub. Dried herself off, wrapped herself in a robe, made sure the clean bucket of water for the next bath was properly warm, and left. 

_    None of that _ .

    Tam collected her coin. Saved up as much as she could. Talked to the others in a polite but reserved way; Marigold was a good woman to drink with, and Hector always thanked her profusely for mending his trousers, but Tam certainly didn’t let anything slip, not to anyone. She was still in the trial phase, she could tell; Madame Mildred eyed her shrewdly when she bothered looking at her at all, a businesswoman assessing one of her latest ventures. Tam refused to be afraid even as she bit her lip until it bled. She was proving that she was a steady worker--not the flashiest of whores, not an obvious choice like Marigold, who had a real talent for tending to a consistent roster of clients, but...Tam sighed. She was just one of the reliable whores that any house needed, and she would see to it that the whole brothel knew that. 

    Liza and Penny were the most eloquent in the house, inviting clients to their delectable readings in droves. Hector had a knack for getting even the most irate client into his bed, Marigold knew how to cultivate and keep her clients, and Ben had the best ass in the North, and he knew how to use it for his lady loves. Whoring was a difficult business to succeed in; to excel at it took dedication, time, energy, a good constitution, decent clothes, a dagger for emergencies, and a fierce ambition. Tam was not a brothel star at all, but she also wasn’t one of the workers who’d been sold into this, or otherwise forced to pursue this path; it was just that she knew the others sensed that her better skills lay elsewhere. Still, that wouldn’t stop her. It couldn’t; this was her livelihood, just as it was all of theirs, and while others were far more capable than she was, she would earn her keep and coin with the rest of them. 

   Yet Lady Stark kept flashing through her mind like fool’s gold. Tam had barely registered Lady Stark’s existence before, but now the woman’s name hunted her wherever she went. 

   A bit of conversation between drinking partners at the brothel: 

   “When my da was in the crypt when the fuckin’ dead came, she was there, knife in hand. We couldn’t have a better she-wolf of Winterfell.” 

    A passing comment as Tam caught the eye of a prospective client in the small but bustling market:

    “...when’s the Ice Queen going to marry, I wonder? Hope it isn’t soon; got a bet going on, don’t laugh--”

    A milk-white father to his daughter, as he held Tam’s gaze in the brothel, as Tam did her best to ignore the young girl and to hold his stare and smile wide:

   “Yes, dearest, Lady Stark is good to her people. But she’s alone, isn’t she? No husband to help her, no man to guide her. You want that someday, don’t you? You want to be loved?”

    The little girl had squirmed in his grasp. “Da, I--”

   “I think it’s time for bed, snowdrop. Why don’t you stay with Uncle Nate for the night, eh? Da’s got his business to attend to.”

   The little girl had run off then, curls flying behind her. The man had turned his gaze back to Tam, and he had smiled with all of his teeth, legs spread wide in the small chair. 

   He’d been a loud one. Snored right afterwards, honking away, but he paid well. Tam couldn’t begrudge him that at least.

   They said that the Lady of Winterfell was living frost. That she was kind but distant, untouchable and remote, like strands of winter sun caught between layers of thick gray clouds. That she had been married twice as a child, and never since. That she was a good leader but surely a horrible wife.

   Tam counted each coin in that well-made leather pouch every night, and she wondered...she wondered…she shook her head, eyes shut tight.  

   Three weeks after the incident in the Great Keep, when Tam had finally started getting decent sleep, a letter appeared addressed to her.

   Leofric, Leo’s sister and unofficial guard outside of the brothel, had handed it to her. “Some boy delivered it, said his name was Squirrel or Fox or some nonsense?” She eyed Tam curiously. “Who’d be sending you anything?”

   Tam shrugged, pulse quickening: was she found out? Was she to be punished after all? “Dunno. Client, maybe? Wants to be discreet?”

   Leofric raised an eyebrow.

   Tam scratched the back of her neck. “I know as much as you do; no idea what the fuck this is...could be a distant cousin giving away his massive inheritance.”

   Leofric snorted and handed the letter over. “Don’t we all wish for that distant cousin.”

   Tam smiled thinly. “Don’t we all.” 

   She was going to leave and read the letter in relative privacy, but Leofric raised another eyebrow, and crossed her muscled arms across her broad chest.

   Tam swallowed. “...What, am I not allowed to--”

   “Mil’s been getting some nasty letters lately. Usual pissy clients or religious folk, you know. Want to make sure it isn’t more of that shite.”

   It was Tam’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Glad you care so much.”

   Leofric’s grin cracked across her wide face. “Open the letter, you fool.”

   So Tam opened the letter. Ordinary parchment, but the ink--she had to squint to read it. Tam’s Ma had taught her to read, but she was no scholar--who had the time and money to read books?--and this...this was some loopy nonsense that barely passed for lettering.

   “...Is it shite--?”

   Tam waved her hand. “Hang on, hang on, I’ve almost got it--” and her heart stopped: 

_       Miss Tam: _

_      Your presence is requested at the Library Tower of the Great Keep this evening. Arrive discreetly. Take the letter enclosed here and present it to the appropriate officials.  _

_      Your cloak is here.  _

_      You may discard this missive, or doubt it, or burn it, or share it with your friends. I ask that you do none of those things. The choice is yours.  _

_      -Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell  _

    Leofric whistled. “That bad?”

    Tam shook her head, stuffing the letter in one of the pockets she’d sewed onto her skirts. “It was, ah...a colorful offer from a previous client of mine.”

    Leofric grunted. “Liked you that much?”

    Tam forced out a laugh. “Yes, well. First time for everything.”

    The burly woman gave Tam one last, piercing look. “Ay. If something happens...if that letter has any fuckery in it...you tell me. You let me know.”

    Tam nodded, a sudden lump in her throat. “I will.”

   “Good.”

    The strong woman clapped her hard on the shoulder, and went to stand outside the entrance. 

    Tam’s fingers clutched at the letter in her pocket. Not even Leofric’s strong arms and belt of knives could keep her safe from royalty. 

_     The choice is yours. _

    What a pack of lies. Lady Stark knew exactly what she was doing--she knew Tam’s name, apparently, somehow, and she knew that Tam wouldn’t be stupid enough to do anything with that letter but follow its instructions. 

_     The choice is yours. _

    Tam grinned to no one in the bustling brothel: what nonsense. Of course she was going to retrieve her cloak. 

\---

    The heat within Winterfell made Tam catch her breath, still. 

    If nothing else came out of this royal fuckery, she will have the memory of warmth in winter.

    Tam presented the note enclosed with the invitation to the appropriate officials. She bowed her head and did her best approximation of a curtsy and wore her nicest clothes. 

    If nothing else, Tam got to glimpse the stars on the clear night as the winter wind whipped through the little town, and she only felt a spring breeze toss her short curls. Moonlight silvered her dark brown skin, and Tam took a long, slow breath. This was what Lady Stark got to experience every night. How could one be lonely, really, when it was so warm, when the stars were so close?

    When Tam approached the Library Tower, she smiled at the ser guarding the entrance like she was an old friend. Presented her note accordingly. 

    The knight gave a short sigh. “Enter.”

    Tam winked. “I will.”

    The poor ser spluttered as Tam headed inside, and as soon as the heavy door closed behind her, Tam tensed. There was no going back after this. Whatever Lady Stark had schemed, whatever she brought her here for…Tam couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t do anything.

    Tam swallowed. She would not be cowed. She wouldn’t. What was Lady Stark without her titles, without her castle, without her books and riches and well-made robes?

    Tam had grown up chasing Wybert’s chickens away from her and Ma’s little house. The boy would lead his pa’s scrawny birds to their house, and he would scream and kick the door and insist that Tam had to marry him. His chickens would shit all over the front of the house. Tam had had her stones ready. She hadn’t hurled them at the chickens. She’d aimed directly for Wybert, and on one glorious afternoon, she had heaved a sharpened stone right at his face, and she had cut his eye. He hadn’t come back, but his pa’s chickens would wander over to the house, and Tam would feed them whatever she had. 

   Tam didn’t have stones this time, but she had her dagger sheathed in her skirts’ pockets. It had been crudely made, a favor owed from a particularly lonely blacksmith years and years ago, but it had served her well. She also had her sewing needles, small and sharp. Tam took a steadying breath: she may be a nobody from the crownlands, but she would not cower. Ma had raised her better than that. She may be scared shitless, she may have no fucking clue what she was doing, but no one could say that Tam Mosscreep lost her nerve.

   The floor creaked beneath her. Tam flinched: well, not lost all of her nerve.

   She took careful strides forward, taking in as much as she could in the dim candlelight. Rounded a corner, looked in the spot she’d seen the lady last--

   “You’re here.”

   Tam whirled around. 

   Lady Stark stood a little ways behind her, between two long shelves stacked full of books. 

   Tam cleared her throat. “Yes.”

   Lady Stark nodded curtly. 

   Tam didn’t know the protocol--was she supposed to bow? Walk over to her? Indecision froze her, so Tam was a stilted statue, awkwardly rooted in place. She could do nothing but stare, her mouth dry, her voice stuck in her throat, her palms sweaty--

   Oh thank the gods. Lady Stark walked towards her with an easy grace, a calm assurance. 

   Soon they were close enough to speak quietly. Lady Stark handed Tam her coat--was that a thicker lining on the inside than there was before?-- and Lady Stark raised an eyebrow. “I must admit, I’m a bit surprised--”

  “How’d you know my name?”

  Fuck. Tam and her stupid mouth--

   Lady Stark paused for a moment, then smirked slightly. “I have my methods.”

   “...Spies?”

   Lady Stark’s smirk widened, and Tam forced herself not to look at her mouth. “I sent Hilda to ask Madame Mildred. That’s all.” 

Tam’s eyes widened. “Oh. Does...does the madame--?”

   “Hilda told her that she wanted to know your name for census reasons; I like to keep a thorough record of the town’s inhabitants. One must always be ready for harsh winters here; every mouth must be accounted for.”

   “Ah.”

   Lady Stark eyed Tam closely. “I take it you are not from the North.”

   Tam scoffed, then did her best to turn it into a cough. “No, my lady. I’m from a village in the crownlands.”

   Lady Stark tensed slightly; her shoulders rose a fraction higher. “I see.”

   Tam shrugged, swallowing her nerves. “I...we never had any love for the crown, and the crown never cared for us. We weren’t, ah...valuable to the throne, except in our taxes and decent supply of cheeses and grain. Grew up with my Ma; she was the best midwife in the village.” Tam looked away for a moment. Stared at a candle slowly dripping wax. “Wars hit. Battles, raids, soldiers from everywhere. I haven’t been back to my village in….well. A long time. Not even sure if it’s still here.”

   Lady Stark nodded slightly. She was as guarded as ever, but her shoulders had relaxed again. “What brings you to the North?”

   Tam felt the tips of her ears redden. “...Permission to speak freely…?”

   Lady Stark waved her hand. 

   “The south has plenty of brothels. The North...not so much. Thought I’d try to go where there’s more of a demand, and less competition.”

    Lady Stark nodded, her expression still unreadable. “And how are you treated at the madame’s?” 

    “Oh, well. Decently. Still have to prove I’m a good worker, but it’s fine.” 

    “Good.”

    A slight pause. Tam’s nails bit into her palms, but she took a breath and let her question out. “Why am I here? It’s not just because of my coat.”

    Lady Stark nodded. “I have a proposal.”

    Tam tilted her head to the side. “...What sort of proposal?”

     Lady Stark shifted slightly, and for a moment, her calm mask slipped. Her blue eyes started at the empty space next to Tam. “Seven years of peace, and I am still unmarried. I have not courted anyone. I have permitted no one to court me.” She smiled tightly. “People speculate. They ask questions. I’m sure you’ve heard some already, though you’re new to us. I’ve had grain and meat to guard from mice. The winter to watch for. Stores of kindling to oversee, land to manage, taxes to collect, local laws to approve. Crimes to sentence, conflicts to subdue, gowns to choose and wear. I’ve attended the births of hearty foals and lambs, and I’ve grown the gardens in here so the whole town may eat fresh fruit and vegetables no matter the season.” 

    Tam didn’t interrupt again, but she found it odd how the woman spoke of such practical things. Rulers, in her limited experience, dealt in intricate royal politics and sweeping laws and long wars and gave no thought for the smallfolk. Listening to Lady Stark, Tam wasn’t bored at all; she only had more questions. 

    “Once,” Lady Stark said, and Tam leaned forward, “there was an elk on the edge of town. She was swollen with her fawn, and the birth was...difficult. She had died, but her fawn lived. I watched the butcher do her work; we had more meat than we’d had in weeks. The fawn...it had been born with a broken leg that couldn’t be fixed.” Lady Stark’s voice grew quieter. “I whispered words to soothe its cries, and I ended its misery with my own knife. More meat than we’d had in weeks.” She shook herself and looked back at Tam, something like nervousness creasing her forehead. “I’m, ah...forgive me, I haven’t answered your question.”

   Tam laughed. “No, you haven’t.”

   Lady Stark’s mouth curved into a slight smile. “I suppose...what I mean to say is that I haven’t thought much about companionship these past few years. And then...you surprised me.”

   Tam’s ears were blazing. “I’m sorry about that--”

   “No need.” Lady Stark stared at Tam with a piercing gaze even as her cheeks reddened. “My proposal is foolish, and I’m proposing it anyway: in exchange for payment, you will...give advice on how to be in a relationship.”

   “...What--?”

   “Nothing--” Lady Stark’s cheeks grew redder, and she frowned at herself. “I’m not asking you to be my mistress. I mean to say...if I find love again, I should like to know more than I do now about….being with someone. I’m not asking you to fuck me--”

    Tam choked on her own spit--

   “I’m asking you to offer advice. Words, not deeds.”

    Tam coughed in the ringing silence that followed. This was all a dream. It had to be. But while her body was surely snoring away, she might as well ask: “...Lady Stark, why me?”

    The she-wolf of Winterfell regarded Tam intently. No one had looked at her with so much purpose since she’d arrived in the North; Tam’s mouth went dry, and her own face heated. 

    Lady Stark did not look away. “You have no agenda against me. You are a stranger to the town. For me, it would reduce suspicion and ensure my safety and reputation are well-kept. For you, this could give you favor in the castle, and coin, of course. More coin than you could ordinarily earn.”

   Tam nodded slowly. “...I see.”

   Lady Stark straightened, chin tilted upward. “Is such a proposal acceptable to you?”

   Tam stared hard at Lady Stark; the set of her jaw, the firm line of her mouth, her stiff posture, the note of command in her voice. “What ensures my protection?”

   Lady Stark straightened even more, if such a thing was possible. “We will craft the proposal together. I will sign my name to it; it will bind me. You will have to trust my intentions--”

   “A piece of paper doesn’t count for much.” Tam clenched her jaw. “What prevents you from having your way with me, if you’d be so inclined? What prevents you from tossing me out of town if I displease you over a petty offense? What will you do if my duties at the brothel conflict with your whims? What ensures my protection?”

   Lady Stark opened her mouth, then closed it. The quiet was charged now. Tam waited, the dark sending sparks up her spine. “What would your terms be? What would you devise?”

    Tam blinked, startled, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Give me the payment in advance. All of it. Sign your name to that paper, and give it to me.”

    “I don’t--”

    “If you act against the agreement, I will have proof against you, no matter how unlikely I am to be believed. The coin ensures that I receive what I am fully owed no matter what happens later on.”

    “Yes,” Lady Stark nodded sharply, a note of impatience entering her voice, “but how do I ensure that you don’t simply take the paper, expose me, and run off with the coin?”

    Tam’s smile cut across her face. “You’ll have to trust me.”

    “An interesting idea.” Lady Stark smiled slowly back, the way a wolf would, with all of her teeth. “I suppose I shall have to trust you, then.”

    Tam started. “What--Lady Stark, thank you--?” 

    “Are we in agreement to draft a proposal? That is all I ask for now.” Lady Stark’s eyes flashed: “I will not expect anything beyond that. Nothing. Are we understood?”

    Tam nodded quickly and smoothed her sweaty palms against her long skirts. “Yes. Sorry, I mean to say--let’s draft a proposal.”

    “Good.” Lady Stark’s gaze was unwavering. “I shall send you a note as to when and where this will take place.” She smiled again, slight and amused. “I look forward to working with you.”

     She held out her hand.

     Tam stared. She was too sweaty for this to be a dream. Her mouth was too dry, and her feet ached from the long day. Everything was far too mundane for this to be anything but real; Tam heard the candle wax melt, she felt her heart pounding in her chest, she bit her lip.

    Very slowly, Tam reached out, and took Lady Stark’s hand. It was larger than her own, and surprisingly calloused. 

    Lady Stark did not look away. “We are in agreement.”

    Tam nearly laughed; she sounded so somber, so serious. This was all so fucking ridiculous, she could still barely believe it. Yet there Lady stark stood, face unmoved, posture set. Tam stared back at her, looking for--not a weakness, but...something else. Heat settled in her gut. Tam wanted Lady Stark to feel as uncomfortable and uncertain and red-faced as she felt, but more than that Tam wanted--she bit her lip--Tam wanted to know if those stories were true. She wanted to see who this woman was, without her titles and her castle. 

    Tam trembled. She drew Lady Stark’s hand closer to her, and Lady Stark did not move, did not look away. Tam gazed at her winter-sky eyes, waiting for the slightest sign of upset, or anger, or fear, but there was none, and slowly, slowly, Tam brought Lady Stark’s hand to her lips, and kissed her knuckle.

    Something changed, then: there was a softness in Lady Stark’s face. For the briefest of moments, her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright, and Tam was certain that she had stopped breathing just like Tam. 

    Lady Stark withdrew her hand. The heat in Tam’s gut remained, and she immediately dropped her hand to her side, and stepped away. Remembered to take a breath. Swallowed. “You…” Tam looked at her shoes. “Your hands are cold.”

    Lady Stark smiled again, soft and small. “Goodnight, Tam.”

    “Goodnight, Lady Stark.”

     Another moment of silence, and then the Queen of the North turned abruptly and walked away, posture perfect, head held high, as though they had never met. 

     Tam was left to stare after her, but then...she was also left to think of how much coin she could receive, and to wonder that her little store may not be such an impossible wish after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> yes it's 2019, yes i'm writing game of thrones fanfiction, yes this is a convoluted romance, no i don't care. i've only watched the show and all i can say is fuck canon. 
> 
> in short, this fic is about: tam and sansa falling in love. this fic is not about: anything else that game of thrones does with its stories, so there's no grimdark, there's no political arguing, there's no war or prophecy or blatantly racist and misogynistic narratives woven into the fabric of the series.
> 
> that being said, Tam is a woman of color who is also a sex worker; i'm white and not a sex worker. if you think this portrayal is fucked up in any way, please let me know, and i'd definitely be down to discuss this with you and edit my fic accordingly. 
> 
> in any case, feel free to say hi on tumblr, i'm at toomanyfeelings5. thanks for checking this out!


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